


small universe

by days4daisy



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Extra Treat, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Post-Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Rimming, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26204638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: It’s not the good looks that make Rocket hop off his bar stool. It’s the fact that the dude has a fake eyeball. Rocket can’t resist.
Relationships: Rocket Raccoon/Thor
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43
Collections: Alternate Universe Exchange 2020





	small universe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Huntress79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress79/gifts).



Rocket has a funny feeling about the bar T’wezi from the start. It’s too _nice_ , that’s the thing. Rocket can see his own reflection in the polished white floor tiles. Blue up-lighting softens the stark white walls, echoing a rim of blue light over the 360 circular bar. Bar staff in pretty flight suits that haven’t seen a lick of battle greet every customer with a smile.

It feels disrespectful, people looking so damn happy after what went on here. Xandar was two seconds from getting blown to bits. If Quill hadn’t been around to shake his ass like an idiot, all it would have taken is one tap of Ronan’s staff.

Rocket’s too mad to see the strain in the bar staff's smiles. He’s nursing a drink with too much sugar and thinking about the twig stuck in a planter back in his bunk. If he’s lucky, he’ll get some version of Groot back, the next Groot. But it won’t be the first Groot, his best friend, the idiot who gave himself up to save their dumb asses. The moron who picked two seconds before dying to learn to say another freaking word.

Gamora doesn't show her face at the bar, still with Nova-Prime or those fancy types. Quill and Drax stopped in but left a while ago, not bothering to say bye. Rocket can’t blame them. He wants to be alone, and he’s projecting that fact loud and clear to anyone who dares look at him the wrong way.

So he’s not in the best head space when one of the smiling bartenders brings him a drink that isn't his. “I didn’t order this,” Rocket grumbles. The new glass has something coppery and stronger-looking in it. Which means it’ll cost more than his current drink, Xandarian scam artists. Without them, this planet wouldn’t be a thing anymore! So much for respect for the Guardians of the Galaxy.

“It’s on him,” the bar hand tells him, smile turning wary when Rocket bares his fangs. She points a shaking finger at some hulking figure with arms the size of rocket launchers. He’s got short, choppy hair and a weathered beard to match. With a sleeveless leather tunic that shows off as much of what’s inside as outside.

 _Hot,_ Rocket’s brain supplies. But it’s not the good looks that make Rocket hop off his bar stool with his glass of what turns out to be bourbon.

It’s the fact that the dude has a fake eyeball. Rocket can’t resist.

The pristine white bar stool next to his anonymous benefactor is wide open. Rocket climbs up and sets his glass on the counter with a clank. “Thanks for the booze,” he says. “So what’s the catch?”

He gets a smile back, a tip of a corner of his mouth, quick and lacking any real happiness. “I didn’t think you'd be here,” he says, in a voice low and deep with the most haughty accent Rocket’s ever heard. “It’s earlier than I expected.”

Total gibberish to Rocket. The guy doesn’t sound drunk, but Rocket still has to wonder. “We met before or something?” Rocket asks. It’s a bullshit question. Sober or wasted, he’d remember someone who looked like this dude.

Another sort-of smile. “No,” he says, “but you remind me of a rabbit I once knew.”

Rocket frowns. “A _what_?”

“A brave space captain and loyal friend. Honorable and mighty. I would stand beside him in any battle.”

The ‘brave space captain’ part sounds legit, but the rest? Nah, definitely not Rocket. “Sounds like a hell of a guy.” Rocket will gladly drink to this other schmuck that looks like him out there.

The drink the guy ordered him is way better than the first. Stronger. Cleaner. It warms Rocket from the tips of his ears to his toes.

“From what I hear, you’re quite the outstanding rabbit yourself,” he’s told. “Xandar would have perished at the hands of the Kree if not for your courage and that of your crew.”

Finally, some appreciation! Rocket lets himself bask in it; he deserves to as far as he’s concerned. They won, but they lost people. Good people. Like Groot, like Saal. They all deserve a comped drink or two and the knowledge that what they did actually mattered.

“You part of Nova Corps?” Rocket asks. Brawny strongmen don’t seem like Xandar’s MO, but it’s hard to imagine a tough guy like this not joining the fray.

The stranger stares a diameter across the bar, looking pensive. “I wasn’t in the city when the accuser made his descent. It was quite the surprise to arrive and find...this waiting.”

Rocket makes a thoughtful sound behind a noisy sip of his bourbon. “Not from here, huh?” He doesn’t have to wait for confirmation. “Picked a hell of a time for a Xandarian vacation.”

The guy chuckles. “You could say that, yeah.”

Rocket gets a sense of something heavy in the words. Something that doesn’t match the forced cheer permeating the rest of the bar. The weight the guy wears is something Rocket feels too.

He gets himself comfortable and drains more of his spirit. “So,” Rocket says “what’s the deal with the eye?”

The question earns Rocket his first real smile. “My dear rabbit friend gave it to me,” the stranger says. “On our quest for a weapon capable of slaying the most fearsome tyrant in the universe. He offered me this precious gift as aid.”

Makes Rocket feel worse about wanting to steal it. Just a little. “You always been missing an eyeball or what?”

“Oh no, no,” he’s told. “My sister stabbed me in the eye, so I had to kill her. Families can be tough.”

Not what Rocket was expecting, but what does Rocket know about family? Some crackpots in a lab cobbled him together. Next to that, a sister stabbing him in the eye doesn’t sound half bad.

Rocket takes another sip as he drums fingers against the table. He looks up to find the stranger draining his own glass. It’s tipped back with abandon, exposing a ridiculous neck, long as it is strong. He’s already motioning to the bar staff with the rim still fixed to his lips.

Another round is set before them. Rocket, lagging with half of his bourbon left, gives the guy a suspicious look. “Y’know, if you’re trying to get me shitfaced, you could at least give me your name.”

“It’s Thor,” the guy answers, smiling again. His blue and fake gold eyes make one hell of a pair, both fixed on Rocket like Rocket’s a five course meal. Like he might actually want to…

Shrugging, Rocket hoists the rest of his first bourbon. “Rocket,” he introduces himself, and drains the rest of his glass. Warmth floods his body like he’s under a refresher stream. He feels Thor’s eyes too, taking in the tilt of his head, as interested in the bob of Rocket’s throat as Rocket was with him.

Rocket feels that telltale tingle in his fingertips. A thing he never lets himself feel because, come on, it’s not like anyone would actually want to fuck whatever he is.

Who cares though? Rocket can go with it and get hot company and free booze. Anything else is extra. Seems like a win-win.

“So,” Rocket says, turning in his seat to face Thor, “tell me about this badass weapon.”

***

Four hours later, Rocket is hooked on Thor’s face like a shield against the cold. Only it’s not cold, Xandar is sweltering even at night, and sweat dampens Rocket’s fur. Could be his own or could be Thor’s, who’s busy sucking wet patches into Rocket’s clothes. Thor fumbles like an idiot in his pocket for his room pass.

“Push your hip against it,” Rocket growls in his ear. “The sensors are strong. Open the goddamn door already, _come on_.”

“I _am_ pushing,” Thor protests, but he’s laughing too, husky notes that make Rocket shudder from head to toe.

Thor finally succeeds in getting them into his room. It’s nothing more than a pod - a single bed that looks too small for Thor let alone for the two of them. Rocket couldn’t care less.

A thing his size doesn’t have much say in where a thing Thor’s size goes, but he does what he can to make his preferences known. He yanks on Thor’s hair so Thor feels all Rocket’s weight urging him towards the mattress.

Luckily, it seems like Thor is on the right trail anyway. In a matter of seconds, Rocket’s back collides with the mattress. Thor’s mouth buries in his neck before he can breathe, and all he can do is toss his head back and groan. He grips fists full of Thor’s hair until he gets Thor’s head up, enough space between them that he can nuzzle into Thor’s face. Thor’s beard rasps on his fur. Rocket bites at Thor’s lips, tastes how wet they’ve gotten from all the mouthing at his clothes.

Speaking of, Thor’s got hands all over his flight suit. There’s so much of Thor’s fingers and so little of Rocket. It’s like Rocket is drowning in touch.

But his senses fix on the pinch on his front zipper. Scrambling, Rocket grips Thor’s fingers. He wants it, fuck yeah he wants every bit of this. But the familiar, sour taste in his mouth makes him writhe out from Thor’s grip. “You ain’t gonna like what you see,” Rocket tells him. Hell, a thing like Thor shouldn’t want to be this far along with a thing like Rocket in the first place. But Rocket hates the stares he gets. He hates all the reminders that he’s nothing but some stitched up freak.

Thor hovers over him, hands respectfully withdrawn. He motions instead to his own fake eye and the white scars marking the skin around it. “Let me be the judge of that?” he suggests.

Rocket snorts. “Yeah, cute, you got a couple scratches. I’m telling you, buddy, you won’t like-”

“I will,” Thor tells him, soft and sincere, two things Rocket has no business being in bed with. “Leave your garments on if you do not wish me to see. But I’d like to know you, rabbit. And I’d like you to know me.” He sits back on his heels, hands plucking the hem of his own shirt. He tips his head in question.

Rocket’s mouth goes dry. He forgets how to be cautious, forgets to even feel annoyed that the dude called him 'rabbit' again. The only thing he remembers how to do is nod.

Thor’s every bit the stupid-hot sight without a shirt on that he was with. His body is one muscle on top of another. Thor’s chest looks like a rock wall, berry nipples perfectly sized for Rocket’s mouth. His washboard abs cut down to deep hip grooves that disappear under the waist of his slacks. Pants that Thor is making quick work of removing.

“Holy shit,” Rocket mumbles. He doesn’t mean to say anything, but it’s not like the sight of Thor’s massive dick can go without comment. Thor is already thick, jumping from his opened fly like waiting this long’s been torture. His thighs are huge, thick rounds of muscle. Rocket gets to watch them flex as Thor rises to remove his pants all the way.

Thor doesn’t make a show out of slicking up his hand, he just dresses his fingers with saliva and gathers himself. A breath shudders out of him. It’s the exact moment Rocket becomes aware of his own cock straining against the front of his flight suit. He gawks up from the bed, heat rolling over him in waves. Rocket’s sure he must have been this horny before at some point? He can’t remember, or think much in general. Thor is good at distracting.

Hands shaking, Rocket tugs down the zipper holding his flight suit in place. The fabric peels open over a mess of fur and metal. Screws pop out of his collarbone and staple a path down his stomach. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he grumbles. Embarrassment sucks, but he’s relieved to be free of the pressure binding his cock. It springs free, pink and already wet around the tip, a shudder of need clenching his legs.

“May I?” Thor asks.

It takes the question, two words of thick want, for Rocket to realize Thor’s good eye has gone smokey with desire. He’s staring down at Rocket, zero disgust or bafflement on his face. Everything about Thor screams ‘need,’ down to the hand white-knuckled around his cock.

“You got issues,” Rocket breathes in obvious disbelief.

Thor laughs, but even this sound is quiet and serious. “Is that a yes?”

“Get the hell down here,” Rocket says.

Thor comes when called - crazy as that is - and buries his face in everything Rocket’s offering. His nose bumps Rocket’s jaw, forcing his head up. Thor takes advantage, lips and teeth on Rocket’s throat. Rocket groans above him. He gets fists full of Thor’s hair, holding on for dear life as Thor feasts on his body. It’s insane, the guy doesn’t give a shit about Rocket’s deformed carcass. He hums his approval against the bolts holding Rocket’s chest in place. His tongue leaves matted down fur in its wake.

“You got,” Rocket pants, “so many fucking issues.”

“As do you.” The words vibrate through his stomach. “Norns, you’re beautiful.”

Rocket’s not sure which word is more baffling, ‘Norns’ or ‘beautiful.’ But he can’t dwell, because Thor’s mouth is on his dick. Make that, completely surrounding it, swallowing him whole. Rocket’s cock drowns between Thor’s lips. He’s like a freaking pipe, and Thor takes a long drag off him. Leaves Rocket’s head reeling and his body arching off the mattress.

“Holy shit,” Rocket gasps. He lifts his dizzy head. Thor buries his face between Rocket's thighs as he slurps away contentedly. His back arches, and his hips grind down into his own hand. He looks orgasmic, and Rocket goes hot as much from watching him as being treated like a damn sex straw.

Rocket crunches up to bury his snout in Thor’s hair. He licks the sweat off his forehead and takes deep breaths of him. Thor groans around him. Rocket’s whole body goes electric.

The room tilts out of nowhere, and Rocket finds himself sitting on Thor’s chest. He slumps over his face, waist jutted up into Thor’s mouth. It’s an invitation Rocket is more than happy to take. He thrusts into Thor’s mouth, enveloped in tight wetness. Flicks of Thor’s tongue leave him digging hands against Thor’s cheeks to hold his balance. He feels Thor’s throat bob with each swallow, hears the wet squish of Thor’s hand around his own cock. Thor’s brow is salty and good on his tongue. His hair smells amazing, _he_ smells amazing. All warm and thick with sex and want. Even settled on how on his feet, Rocket is off-balance. He’s tumbling off the edge, buried too deep in Thor’s mouth.

His orgasm leaves him reeling. He spasms so hard he loses his footing, practically draped across Thor’s face. Rocket loses track of himself, doesn’t hear his own desperate whine bubble out on Thor’s skin.

He finds Thor’s free hand against his back. Slow, deep strokes rouse him, buried in the tuff of his neck. Rocket moans against Thor’s hair. “You son of a bitch,” he mumbles.

Thor’s chuckle strains, and Rocket realizes with a glance over his shoulder that the big guy isn't done. His body bridges into his own hand, cock a pretty, rosy blush between his clenched fingers.

Rocket pops wet from Thor’s mouth. On rubbery legs, he crawls down Thor’s body. Makes it as far as his chest before he lies down, mouth hovering over one of those little nipple-buds. Hungrily, he takes one between his teeth. Rocket isn’t built to suck like Thor, but he can still get it nice and wet, tease his teeth around it. He can’t see Thor’s face, but he hears Thor’s surprised grunt, and that’s enough for Rocket. Rocket continues with relish, trying to drag every last sound he can out of Thor. He turns Thor’s pretty pink nipple red, sucks on it until Thor’s whole body shudders with an exhale under him.

Rocket isn’t expecting Thor’s free hand to prop itself against his backside. Or for the sudden, wet drag of pressure across his asshole. Rocket’s body goes stone-stiff, rear thrust out on instinct. “The fuck’s wrong with you?” he gasps. It’s like he’s hit by too many volts of electricity. Everything on him stands on end, from his fur to his limbs to his already drained cock. He jumps up hard again, faster than he ever has, and it leaves him scrambling to maintain some of his control. But whatever’s left is fading fast, swallowed by the lips pressed up on him. The tongue against Rocket’s puckered hole trying to ease its way in.

Rocket’s hips buck down, erection grinding on Thor’s collar. He doesn’t miss how Thor’s waist bobs in return. Thor groans against him, and Rocket feels the sound through every inch of his over-amped body. The provocation only seems to make Thor more determined. His rhythm picks up in pace and depth. Rocket’s slack legs shiver, and his body slacks. Thor’s mouth is so hot, Rocket feels himself melting like butter on a hot stove. His muscles go lax, and Thor gets inside him, licking away every last bit of tension, making it hard to breathe.

Growling, Rocket sinks his teeth into Thor’s nipple. Thor’s motions stop on a choked sound, and his body jerks so hard that Rocket nearly tumbles off.

Then he’s back, fucking Rocket with his tongue. Rocket’s whole body shakes with need. He thrusts himself into the hollow of Thor’s collar, hips grinding against bone. Teeth still clamped tight, Rocket tugs.

He loses Thor’s tongue. Thor’s moan floods Rocket instead, and his waist spasms off the bed. His orgasm clenches his stomach tight, ab lines dressed with his own seed. It’s the only provocation Rocket needs. He juts himself down, jerking himself off to the sight of Thor’s body falling apart. Rocket adds to the mess on Thor’s skin, streaks of release dressing his collarbone. Thor makes a quiet sound, and twitching fingers stroke Rocket from head to tail.

It takes time for Rocket to make himself get up. He turns to find Thor staring up at the ceiling in a daze. Thor smiles when he feels Rocket’s attention. His mouth is swollen from all the licking and sucking, plus Rocket thrusting against his face. It's too sentimental, but Rocket tucks close enough to lick at his already wet lips.

“We made a mess of you, huh?” Rocket mumbles.

Thor chuckles and turns his face against Rocket’s cheek. “I love it,” he says.

The way he says it, tired and pleased, makes something weird and new fill Rocket’s chest like a balloon. He scoffs but stays right where he is, heavy head nuzzled against Thor’s face. “M’tired,” he says. “Think I’ll stay awhile.”

“You do that,” Thor sighs. One of his big hands sprawls across Rocket’s back, and Rocket curls to fit it. No way should he feel this comfortable with a one nighter, no way. But he doesn’t even fight his heavy eyelids when they insist on closing.

***

News reaches the crew a week later that the infinity stone stored on Xandar is gone.

“What the hell?” Quill gawks at the reports coming in across their comms. “The Nova Corps should have kept the damn thing safe!”

“They _did_ ,” Gamora insists, but the strain wears on her voice. “Or, they should have. I don’t understand.”

“Was it an army?” Drax wants to know. “The Kree seeking revenge?”

“Doesn’t make a lick of sense,” Quill mutters. “All these feeds are saying it was one dude.”

Rocket frowns up at him, and at the readouts. “One dude? What kind of a dude decimates a whole freaking army?”

Gamora shakes her head, looking shaken. “It couldn’t have been him,” she whispers. “Xandar wouldn’t be… The planet and its people are alright. That’s the most important thing, but-”

“One dude,” Quill reiterates, shaking his head. “Said there was lightning coming out of his hands and stuff.”

Drax eyes him. “What other stuff was lightning coming out of?”

“Dude, no, it’s an _expression._ ”

Rocket glares at them before he turns back towards the comms feed. There’s local video of the attack on. It’s hard to make out, shaking and distant. There’s a silhouette of a single man, then the video cuts out on a blare of lightning shooting down from the sky. When the video comes back up, it’s a sunny freaking day, complete with a rainbow over the horizon. The mystery man is gone.

Rocket takes another step towards the screens. “They say he had a fake eye, huh?”

Quill huffs. “Come on, now’s _not_ the time for your weird fake eye thing.”

“Never mind!” Rocket growls. He leaves the rest of them stewing in the common area and stomps his way back to his bunk. Rocket climbs up on his cot, ignoring their new Groot sitting safe and sound in his pot of soil.

Rocket tosses himself down face first.

He doesn’t bother pretending there’s no way, or that it’s a hell of a coincidence. Or that one dude can't create storms or steal infinity stones from one of the strongest armies in the galaxy.

Rocket remembers that warm, weird pressure in his chest. An insistent nagging that made him murmur, “I’m outta here with my crew tomorrow. Come with if you want. We got space. If you got nothing better to do, that is.” He spoke against Thor’s skin.

Thor’s answering smile curved against Rocket’s belly. “I’d like that very much,” he said, “but I have business to attend to here first. One day, though, if we’re lucky, perhaps our paths will cross again.”

“I don’t know, man, it’s a big universe,” Rocket told him.

A chuckle followed, drowsy and comfortable. “You’d be surprised,” Thor said. “Sometimes, it can feel rather small. Don’t you think?”

Rocket’s never known the universe to feel small, and Rocket had zero hope of ever seeing the guy again. But something about how Thor said the words made Rocket wonder if he could be right. If he knew something Rocket didn’t, crazy as that seemed.

“You better be right,” Rocket tells the ceiling, in place of the one night stranger who isn’t here. “I want to kick your ass. So you better be right.”

He wants to do other things too, even now. Ghosts of hands and lips all over his body making him shiver on the mattress.

 _Thor had a reason,_ Rocket’s brain supplies. _He must have._

It’s a weak idea and sounds as impossible as a mortal guy making lightning shoot out of his hands. But it turns out, not much is impossible these days. For now, a weak idea sounds one hell of a lot better than most. Rocket chooses to believe it, and he sighs against his pillow.


End file.
